


surrender

by beyondmyreach



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Threats, compelled infidelity, of sixteen years, the young king might have a bit of Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondmyreach/pseuds/beyondmyreach
Summary: If anyone ever summoned the courage to ask the young king - barely sixteen of age and had already compelled a great many of men to not only serve him on the battlefield but also in his bed at night - why men, why army men in particular, and the young king was in the right sort of mood, he would smile slyly and upon beckoning them closer, whisper in their ears, “Because it amuses me,” and the frightening thing wouldn’t be his words but rather because they are true.





	surrender

**Author's Note:**

> What compelled me to write this, I don't know. (It might have been reading the first book of the Temeraire series and then having to wait in agony for the next book to arrive in my hands, and then reading Temeraire fanfics while trying to carefully avoid any spoilers and then seeing an intriguing tag of Napoleon Bonaparte/William Laurence that I cannot yet read)
> 
> Regardless, enjoy!

It was an open secret: the northern kingdom’s young king had a preference for men, especially those serving in his army, and everyday he would walk by the barrack or the training arena near the palace, casually as though strolling through the marketplace for groceries, and choose a man to serve in his bedchamber that night. 

Among those chosen, some would be honored or ecstatic, others hesitant or reluctant, but they would all serve nevertheless. Refusal was not an option, not upon death to the refuser and his entire family. 

If anyone ever summoned the courage to ask the young king - barely sixteen of age and had already compelled a great many of men to not only serve him on the battlefield but also in his bed at night - why men, why army men in particular, and the young king was in the right sort of mood, he would smile slyly and upon beckoning them closer, whisper in their ears, “Because it amuses me,” and the frightening thing wouldn’t be his words but rather because they are true. 

The young king, precocious and capricious, found amusement in toying with his subjects, most of whom were older and stronger than him, yet all living under his rule, subjected to his every whim. He found special joy in compelling army men to his bed, especially if they were unwilling, if only because he found their reluctance, self-restraint, and anguish all the sweeter when they fall away under bodily pleasure. 

There was a young general the young king had taken a liking to. The young general had joined the army as soon as he was of age and had risen through the ranks from a peasant to a soldier and then a young general at the age of thirty-two on merit and battlefield accomplishments alone. He was honorable, loyal, and he had a wife and a child. 

The first time the young king had chosen him, the young general’s eyes widened with shock. Then, upon registering the young king’s words, his  _ command _ , the young general fell to his knee before the young king. The young general couldn’t have known that as he explained his circumstance - he had a wife and child waiting for him at home, so however honored he was to had been chosen, he would respectfully have to ask to be excused-, all the young king was thinking about was how pleasant and lovely the young general looked at his feet, on his knees with his brown eyes so exquisitely wide, and wondering how the young general’s voice would sound not uttering words but rather noises of pleasure that he is helpless against resisting.

“And?” the young king had uttered when the young general had finally finished making his excuse, and then he had the pleasure of watching the young general’s mouth part with astonishment and then the beginning of shattered idealism. 

The interior of the young general’s mouth was red and the puff of air he let out against the winter air warm. The young king wondered how it would feel to have that mouth against him, wrapped around him,  _ in  _ him, and smiled at the thought.

“I look forward to you in my bedchamber tonight,” the young king said, already walking away. He didn’t need to look to imagine the young general gathering the breath for yet another fruitless denial. “And if you attempt to refuse yet again, the execution of your wife and child prior to your arrival to my bedchamber.”

That night, the young general arrived at the young king’s bedchamber as commanded, accompanied by his own subordinates, also as commanded. The young king paid no heed as the young general’s subordinates give the young general reassuring squeezes on the arm or bumps against the shoulder before filing out the bedchamber.

After all, the young general was there, dressed in his armor and armed with a sword hanging at his hip, fidgeting with obvious desire to be anywhere but there, and yet unable to resist the young king’s command and was in his bedchamber all the same, guarded by his very subordinates that would willingly follow all his commands except he was superseded on this. 

The young king made himself comfortable on his bed, dressed only in his thin nightgown and nothing else. The young general’s gaze skittered, away from the young king, away from the bed, the reminder of the reason why he was there, and the young king smiled.

“Strip,” he said, and the young general’s head unwittingly jolted his way as though shocked. The young general’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and the young king wondered how it would feel to drag his tongue against it. 

“Strip,” the young king repeated when the young general didn’t move, and then added, “That’ll be the last time I repeat myself. The next time I would have to do so, you know what would happen,” and his words had the desired effect. 

Fear entered the young general’s eyes and expression, the emotion not at all an unpleasant look on him, and then he began taking off his armor, yanking them off piece by piece, almost angrily. 

“Place them there,” the young king gestured to the side, and he watched with tendrils of pleasure curling within his chest as the young general obeyed. The young general hesitated when he had only a loincloth left hanging across his hips to preserve his dignity, but under the young king’s waiting eyes, he too strip away that last layer of defense with his own two hands, until he stood bare before the young king as naked as a newborn. 

The young general’s face was flushed red, with shame and embarrassment, the young king thought, and he noted with amusement that it was slowly spreading across his entire body as well. It was a pleasant color on him. The young king made a mental note to keep him that way throughout the night. 

“Come,” the young king said, beckoning the young general towards him, and slowly, with great reluctance, the young general approached. The young king tugged the young general down once he was within arm distance, and for a second, there was resistance, but then his body give way and he let his back hit the bed, the young general evidently recalling himself and the young king’s promise, his threat. A light within his eyes drown out and he looked away, as though unable to bear to see. 

The young king crawled over the young general until he was straddling his chest. “Look at me,” he commanded, and there was a beat when nothing happened, before his eyes fluttered open. The young general’s face was an open book and with his eyes opened, doubly so. The young king drank in the despair in his expression, the fear and anguish. “Do you resent me?” the young king asked curiously, and the young general’s mouth parted. 

“Please, my king,” the young general started, and the young king cupped his hand to the young general’s chin and drew him forward, tasting the warm red mouth that he had wondered about since that morning at the barrack. 

‘Please,’ the young general had said, and the young king had liked the way the his throat had vibrated upon speaking that word. ‘My,’ he had said, and the young king enjoyed watching his lips wrap around that single possessive syllable as though he had any right. 

But ‘king’.

“Shh,” the young king hushed the young general, almost reassuring, and then that was the last time the young general had uttered the word ‘king’ that night. After that, there were gasp and soft moans, full-body shudders and a lot more ‘please’, and the indeed the young general’s skin had stayed pleasantly flushed as promised until almost dawn. 

The young king would call upon the young general many times after that, eliciting envy and pity from many, and the one time the young general asked, why, why him, the young king smiled slyly and upon leaning forward, whispered in his ears, “Because it amuses me” and it would only be half the truth. 

It did, indeed, amused the young king to toy with the young general, to pin him beneath him despite the young king’s lack of strength and the young general’s lack thereof, to feel the young general surrender beneath him time and again despite all the battles he had won on the battlefield. It made him feel powerful, if only for a moment, to so utterly control the young general down to every involuntary sound he made, every twitch of his fingers, his toes. The young king grew addicted to running his smooth hand down the young general’s battle-scarred body and feel the ripples of muscles beneath his touch. The young general could so easily toss the young king away, grab at the sword that the young king ordered him to bring to his bedchamber and then leave at his bedside each time, and slice the young king in half, ending his misery, and yet -

And yet the young general suffered through it all, the shattering of his trust in the crown, his belief in justice, his loyalty to his wife and marriage, and his own honor and pride as he is pulled apart time and again by a young king twice his junior with his subordinates right outside the door as witnesses to his mewls and cries of surrendered pleasure. 

All because of the word ‘king’.

The young king thought derisively that he supposed he had it to thank as he brought them to a climax the third time that night, his arms held above his head with nothing more than a feather touch from the young king and an iron-will from the young general, his skin still a lovely embarrassed red despite the many times they’d done this, half-choked mixture of a sob and a moan escaping from the young general as he pled the young king to let him rest, and his body shuddering involuntarily in pleasure, pain, and exhaustion.

The young general looked like a wreck, and young king smiled, pleased, as he almost gently pressed a kiss to the young general’s flushed forehead. Then, he pushed on, regardless of the young general’s startled cry, and come morning when the sun rose above the mountains and filtered through the curtains, drenching his entire bedchamber and the young general’s sleeping form in bright warm sunlight, the young king would look at him, a furrow against his brows even in his sleep, and think he wouldn’t mind dying at his hands when he shattered. 

And it would be lovely. Oh, he would be so lovely.   
  



End file.
